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I smile, then open my mouth again.
Chloe raises one eyebrow.
“Okay,” I say.
She beams. “Dakota is busy with her boyfriend, but Malia’s coming with us. Come into the kitchen whenever you’re ready so we can pregame.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
Once Chloe is gone, I stand, stretch, and start flipping through my closet.
I’m assuming going-out attire here is more similar to Boston than it was in London. I settle on all black—jeans, a silky tank top, and a suede jacket. At least if someone spills beer on me, it won’t be visible. Unfortunately, I’m speaking from experience.
I apply some makeup, brush my hair, and then head into the kitchen after taking a couple of deep breaths that don’t do much to soothe my anxiety.
Chloe is standing at the counter, mixing a cup’s contents with a spoon. Malia is sitting on one of the stools, flipping through songs on her phone.
Both are dressed in jeans and cute tops, so I’m relieved I got the dress code right.
Chloe holds the glass she was stirring out to me as soon as she sees me. “Here, try this and tell me what you think.”
I take a cautious sip. “It’s good. What is it?”
“Whiskey, lemon juice, and maple syrup. I was going to make mojitos, but we’re out of limes.”
“And rum?”
“What?”
“Mojitos have rum in them, right?”
Chloe’s response is “Do they?”
I glance at Malia, and she shrugs. “I’ve sampled enough of Chloe’s concoctions. I’m sticking to wine.”
Concoctionssounds slightly ominous, but I take another sip anyway.
I’m nervous enough about showing up to a party of strangers with two girls I barely know. Doing so totally sober sounds worse.
“Crap, we should go,” Chloe says. “Logan just texted me. It’s already packed.”
“Okay, okay.” Malia chugs the rest of her wine in an impressive amount of time, while I down the rest of the glass Chloe gave me.
Maybe it’s the whiskey in it I like so much.
The only other time I’ve had it was…yeah, not thinking about that.
“C’mon,” Chloe calls, already heading for the front door. “The faster we walk, the sooner we’ll get there. Everyone have keys? Phones?”
“We’re walking?” I ask, surprised.
“Yeah, the hockey house is just a couple of blocks away. It’ll be faster than ordering a car and no one has to drive home.”
My steps slow until I’m barely moving, nothing but those three words registering.
Thehockeyhouse.
It occurred to me while getting ready that there was a chance whatever party we were headed to could be attended by hockey players. Could be attended by Aidan. Like I already noticed, the campus isn’t that big. Aside from the four players I saw in the coffee shop, I’m pretty sure I spotted a Holt Hockeyjacket in my Intro to Philosophy class. Avoiding the entire team until I graduate next May isn’t realistic, unless I decide to become the antisocial shut-in I turned into in Boston and swore I wouldn’t become again.
